


Spring

by redscudery



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Established Relationship, Fluff, Food, Jack & Bitty visit Quebec, Look they're just wandering around near Quebec City okay, M/M, Québec, Travel, Vignettes, holding hands and trying new things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 20:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6872695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/pseuds/redscudery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine one or two years out from the kiss. Jack and Bitty have settled down; Bitty’s graduated and they’ve got a little apartment somewhere.</p><p>One day–could be Valentine’s Day, could be just any day, there’s a box on the table when Bitty gets home, with a little tag (scrawled in black Sharpie, of course) saying “Open Me”. No exclamation point.</p><p>So Bitty opens it, and inside there are four envelopes, marked “Spring”, “Summer”, “Autumne” [sic, because Jack can never remember whether the English takes an ‘e’ or the French does], and “Winter”. Four sets of plane tickets, all to Quebec.</p><p>“I love it,” Bitty says later, when he’s thanked Jack properly and they’re wrapped around each other in their bed. “I can’t wait to try all those delicious French pastries and go to cute towns and do sophisticated arty French things.”</p><p>“Perfect,” Jack says, with a kind of secret smile. “I can’t wait to show you my home.”</p><p>The first visit is in the spring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tempête de printemps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty thinks spring is warmth and flowers. He's unfamiliar with the Quebec spring: dirty snow, dogshit breezes, and the occasional glimpse of last year's brown grass. 
> 
> But Jack wants him to see everything, and know everything, and so off they go on a spring trip to Quebec City in early April.

“This is not spring.” Eric Bittle looks out of the airplane window as they come down through the clouds.  
“It’s spring.”  
“I see snow, Jack Zimmermann, and that makes it not spring.”  
“Technically spring started March 21, and it’s April 10. And also it really is spring.”  
“I do not believe one word you are saying.”  
“You’ll see.”

When they step outside Quebec City’s Jean-Lesage airport, it’s 6:30 a.m. and the sun is nearly up. Fresh snow covers the pavement.  
“What are those mountains over there? That’s not…”  
“Snow. It’s old snow.”  
“That snow is higher than my head.”  
“Everything is higher than your head,” he pauses, then adds, “Bitty.”  
Bitty mock-punches Jack in the ribs. Jack pretends to stagger around but stops when he sees that Bitty’s actually shivering.  
“Come on, then, delicate flower. Let’s get the car.”  
“I thought we were just going to stand here until we froze.”  
“It isn’t even minus five.”  
“I do not know what y’all’s barbaric number system means. I’m just going to turn into an icicle.”  
“You are not,” Jack says, and wraps him into a warm hug.  
“Guess not.” Bitty says, and kisses Jack’s nose. It’s not even cold.  
“We still better hurry, though,” Jack says, once his face is free. “There’s a blizzard coming in today.”  
“See? Not spring,” Bitty grumbles, but he follows Jack to the parking lot.


	2. En route

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty has certain, um, expectations when it comes to what the architecture will be like. He is somewhat disappointed.

They drive out along the 138, then take the 40 northeast. Jack watches Bitty process the strip malls and dubious steakhouses. His face is seizing into that polite Southern rictus, and Jack almost feels badly.  
Then they pass the Ameublements Tanguay building north of the highway and Bitty chokes back an exclamation of horror.  
“You okay?” Jack asks mildly, hoping his face doesn’t give him away. Bitty sighs.  
“That building is an abomination, so help me,” he says. “I’m so sorry, Jack, that wasn’t even a little kind. I want to love it here.”  
“It’s just a furniture store.”  
“Then I feel confident that it should be burnt to the ground--without the ovens.”  
“In about ten minutes I’ll have something beautiful to show you.”  
“Is it snowy?”  
“Most definitely.”  
“I wish I could bake a pie right now.”  
Jack doesn’t stop at the Montmorency falls--he wants to get where they’re going, because the dark blue snow clouds really are blowing in, but Bitty’s gasp as they drive by is rewarding.  
“They’re beautiful, Jack. So high!”  
“If you stand on the bridge--see it, right up there--you can see all of Orleans Island and the silhouette of the city.”  
“Can we go?”  
“On our way back. Right now, we’re going to our chalet.”  
“Shala-h...Jack, I did not take French.”  
“Cottage. I rented a cottage.”  
“JACK YOU DID NOT.”  
“I did.”  
“Is there an oven?”  
“There is. And we’re going to stop at Ste.-Anne for groceries. No. DO not hug me while I’m driving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (note: building in question is [the Ameublements Tanguay building on Armand-Viau off the 40](https://www.jobillico.com/medias/exponent/2286/images/7567.jpg). Don’t say I didn’t warn you. The falls, on the other hand, [are glorious, even when it's icy in April](http://gotoquebec.o.g.f.unblog.fr/files/2009/04/dsc00951.jpg) (it's always icy in April).


	3. Chalet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chalet is an integral part of Quebec life, and so Jack takes Bitty to a rental cottage that is typical of its kind: wood-panelled interiors, mediocre furniture, old-timey blankets--and a functional oven. Of course.

“This road isn’t paved.”  
“We’re going to a chalet.”  
“Cottages are small and pretty.”  
“So this one is too.”  
“Bien sur.”  
“You’re doing that on purpose.”  
“Ben oui.”  
“Jack!”  
“Don’t kiss me while I’m driving.”  
“If you speak French I will kiss you. It’s the law.”  
“We’re almost there. Let us get checked in and I’ll speak all the French tu veux.”  
“This concern for traffic safety strikes me as very Canadian.”  
“It’s very English Canadian.”  
“So you should be more devil-may-care about traffic?”  
“You are eighty years old. Look, we’re almost there.”  
“This is a road?”  
“You grew up in the American South and you can’t recognize a dirt road?”  
“There is no dirt. There’s snow.”  
“This makes a difference?”  
“It do--oh! It’s so cute!”  
“Comme toi, tu vois.”  
“Can I kiss you now that we’re parked?”  
“You can.”  
Bitty launches himself over the stick shift at Jack, small cold hands on Jack’s neck, small cold lips on Jack’s face. Jack smiles into the kiss, happy that Bitty is happy and thrilled to be here with him. 

When they check in, Bitty rushes to the kitchen, then rushes into the bathroom, then rushes up the stairs.  
“There are woven blankets on these beds, Jack. Woven!”  
“Catalognes, yes.”  
“There’s even a rolling pin. And the oven looks ..liveable. I’m going to get the butter.”  
“You do that,” Jack says, standing at the window. He can see l’ile d’Orleans, and he remembers picking apples and strawberries there as a child. When Bitty comes in, his face flushed with cool air, Jack kisses him, a hundred times and more.   
They still eat pie, but it’s later, much later, and they’re tangled up warm and sated on the uncomfortable couch by the window, looking at the river and the island and the thousands of stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A [catalogne](https://ctl1120.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/catal31.jpg?w=450) is an old-fashioned (now, although people still make them) blanket woven from rags. They’re heavy and really warm.
> 
> The view that Jack & Bitty see is almost A [this one](https://s3.amazonaws.com/gs-geo-images/a056c124-c650-4db0-b728-82652fe45eee.jpg) (it’s actually from the falls, not the cottage several km north, but close enough. And yes, that is really taken in early spring.


	4. Raquette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wouldn't be spring without a snowshoe hike.

It’s true, Jack thinks, that they could have driven to the sugar shack but it’s just up the ridge and it’s a beautiful day. He swallows the last of his coffee.   
“You look pensive,” Bitty says, scooping up his cup and kissing his ear. Jack winds his arm arounds Bitty’s waist, his fingers finding soft skin at the waistline of Bitty’s pyjama pants. Bitty heaves a deep sigh and looks at him, smiling.   
“I’m fine,” Jack says. He lifts Bitty’s shirt and blows an enormous raspberry. Bitty twists and turns; he’s off balance, and Jack grabs him. “See? You thought I was pensive but I was plotting.”  
“You’re so sneaky,” Bitty says, and bites him on the neck.   
Jack would never have believed that Eric Bittle was a biter, but he is. A sneaky one, too; the first bite was just this side of too hard, and the next three are ticklish, delectable half-bites.  
“I have goosebumps, Bitty,”  
“This is bad?”   
“We’re supposed to be snowshoeing up to the cabane a sucre. It’s almost time for brunch.”  
The speed with which Bitty jumped out of Jack’s lap was comical.  
“Brunch. Quebec brunch. It’s a whole new WORLD, Jack! What am I going to wear? Definitely my plaid shirt, but then what?  
“Warm-ups. We’re snowshoeing; if you fall into the snow you’ll get wet in jeans.”  
“I do not get wet. I’m a very graceful snowshoer.”  
“I’m sure.”

The sun is high in the cloudless sky by the time they’re outside. Jack heroically refrains from tossing Bitty into the snow when he attaches his snowshoes, and soon they’re weaving through the poplars that line the ridge. The air is still warming up, and the St.-Lawrence is mostly blue, dotted with icebergs. Bitty is stomping along, looking back at his prints with satisfaction. Jack feels lighter with every step. 

Then he hits a soft patch and sinks buttocks-deep into the snow. Bitty quits stomping and looks at him, wide-eyed and silent.   
Well, for a second. Then he’s laughing so hard he can barely hold himself up. Jack stops trying to free himself as tears roll down Bitty’s cheeks.   
“You done?”  
Bitty stops and wipes his face. His nose is pink.  
“I am happier than I have ever been. Where is my phone?”  
“If you Tweet this….great.” Jack feels his phone buzz. Sometimes he thinks Bitty’s nimble fingers aren’t a completely wonderful thing.


	5. Cabane à sucre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack takes Bitty to a sugar shack, where maple syrup is made. These places often serve a meal to visitors, and midmorning is the most popular time to go. Menus vary, but they are heavy on breakfast meats, starches,and, of course, maple syrup.
> 
> Bitty, who loves brunch, is ready to go.

Bitty’s determination in the face of a new challenge hasn’t faded a bit despite the effort, and Jack drinks in his smile and flushed cheeks.  
“I see it! Is this it? There’s a parking lot, Jack.”  
“Sorry I made you walk?”  
Bitty raises his eyebrows, mock-angry.  
“How can I? You are barely sneaky enough to be a person to begin with. I’m proud. Now where is the brunch?”  
“Just…” Jack hesitates. “Well, it’s here. Leave your snowshoes at the door.” Bitty does, and vaults onto the log porch with considerable enthusiasm. Jack grins. It took some persuading to convince Elzear Lavoie to turn away all other guests on a busy Saturday in sugar season, but he’s glad they did. Now he can hold hands with Bitty while they eat.  
“Jack! Mon homme, t’as ben grandi!” Gemma Tremblay exclaims in her broad Saguenay accent, holding her hands out to him. He grasps them and kisses both plump cheeks. Bitty hangs back a bit, but is clearly entertained. Until it’s his turn.  
“Et ton chum, la! Ye beau comme un coeur!” Bitty reaches out to shake her hand, but she grabs him and bumps his cool cheeks with hers. Jack, miraculously, gets his camera open just in time.  
“Viens donc, la. Tout est pret.”  
“Merci,” Bitty stammers, and Gemma gives him a huge smile as she leads him up to the table.  
Jack gets another picture--it’s actually video, thank God for Shitty’s Skype tutorial--of Bitty’s face as he sees the food.  
“Y’as-tu besoin, tit’homme, qu’on explique?” Gemma asks.  
“Non, Gemma, c’est ben beau. J’vais le faire.” She nods, but by the time they’re seated in front of the plastic, red-checked tablecloth, she’s back in the kitchen.  
“So,” Jack says, composing his face before he looks up at Bitty. “Can I serve you something?”  
Bitty nods.  
“Yes, please. I’ll start with pancakes, bacon, and sausage, please. Oh, and beans.”  
Jack stares.  
“Google. It’s not hard.”  
“You just.. You sounded surprised that there WAS a specific Quebec brunch.”  
“You spent ten minutes in the restroom. I Googled. Now pass me the syrup.”

The snowshoe trip back is not nearly as easy as their trip up, downhill momentum notwithstanding. Bitty is groaning, undone by the last glob of maple taffy on the snow.  
“How can you smile? Evil. You’re evil.”  
“I did say to slow down.”  
“Ugh,” Bitty replies, and flops against a fallen tree. Jack sits beside him and holds him close.  
“You’ll be fine,” he says, kissing the bright hair.  
“How are you digesting normally right now?” Bitty moans, snuffling into his jacket.  
“Years of practice. I mean, the cheese in maple syrup was probably a bit much, but otherwise I’m fine. Gemma’s pea soup is the best in the world.”  
At the mention of pea soup, Bitty shakes his head ruefully.  
“I thought I was prepared. I was not prepared.”  
“You’ll learn to be.”  
“I swear, when you come to Georgia we’re going to tour every pie shop and bakery there is.”  
“Bring it on,” Jack says. Then he rifles in his pocket. “Maple candy?”  
The speed at which Bitty heads down the hill is almost amazing. Jack takes his time, posting his pictures to the team chat before he follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Jack! Mon homme, t’as ben grandi!” - “Jack, you’ve grown so much!”
> 
> “Et ton chum, la! Ye beau comme un coeur!” - “And your boyfriend! He’s beautiful as a heart [literal translation; actual translation is more like ‘an angel’] !”
> 
> “Viens donc, la. Tout est pret.” - “Come on then, everything’s ready.”
> 
> “Y’as-tu besoin, tit’homme, qu’on explique?” - “Does the little man [literal translation; actual translation is more like ‘love’ or ‘sweetheart’]
> 
> “Non, Gemma, c’est ben beau. J’vais le faire.” - “No, it’s fine. I’ll do it.”


	6. Bonbons aux patates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty feels that Jack hasn't shown him anything new.
> 
> Jack shows him something new.

They’re sitting in the Cochon Dingue in the Basse-ville. It’s still snowy, but sun’s streaming in through the windows. An empty plate sits between them. Bitty licks his fork and sets it down.

“I told you I wasn’t afraid of your sugar pie.”

“Tarte au sucre.” Jack grins, knowing Bitty won’t say the words. 

“Sugar pie. It’s pecan pie with no pecans. It is very good. And I appreciate it. But exotic it is not.”

Jack takes a sip of his coffee and smiles again. 

“Ok.”

“Ok? After all the buildup? I admit the taffy got me, but that’s because I ate too much. The pea soup was delicious, and so was the meat pie. But,Jack Laurent Zimmermann, you have not really wowed me in the food department. I definitely expected more unusual foods.”

“Ok,” Jack says. 

“Ok? Is this stoic Canadian understatement? Because it’s  _ terrible _ .” 

“You and your stereotypes,” Jack says, “But I promise to show you something new. Let’s go.” He pays the bill and they walk out into the cool air. Jack sniffs up the blend of snow and salt air and the underlying scent of thaw, which Bitty says he can’t smell but which Jack has missed. 

“This does look more like I imagined,” Bitty says, as they walk along the rue du Petit Champlain, “more European.”

“I wasn’t fair to you,” Jack admitted. “But you were so cute. And I like to watch your surprised face.”

“Even when I’m laughing at y’alls’ buildings?” 

“We can take it.” 

 

They loop around past the antique stores on Saint Paul, in front of the train station. Bitty’s shivering but neither of them wants to go in, and so they walk down past the port and through the trendy New St.-Roch neighbourhood. Then they climb the hill back to rue St.-Jean, chirping all the way.

“Slow down, Bittle. Don’t want your delicate digestion to suffer after that sugar pie.”

“I’m surprised your mouth isn’t glued shut from your taffy consumption.”

“I’m surprised you’re not in 100 sweaters because you can’t hack the weather.”   
“That’s because it’s in fake degrees.” Bitty pants, then scoops up a handful of grimy snow and threatens Jack with it.

“Hey! Put it down! We’re here.”

“Here” is the Épicerie J.A. Moisan. It’s fancy and touristy, and normally Jack wouldn’t go in, but--well, he’s got plans.

“This is adorable!” Bitty says, looking all around, “Is there a baking section?”

“Yes, but wait. Candy first.”

“Oh, candy. What kind of candy?”

Jack weaves his way through the narrow aisles to the counter of local specialties and pulls out a small plastic-wrapped tray.  In it are four pieces of bonbons aux patates.    
“This.”

Bitty eyes it. It’s true that bonbons aux patates are visually unappetizing, Jack thinks; it’s his childhood memories that make the white-and-brown slices so tempting. 

“Let me see that,” he says, and Jack shows him. Bitty examines it, sniffs it through the saran wrap, and presses the edge gently. Jack tries not to laugh.

“So,” Bitty says finally, “there’s peanut butter in it, but what else?”   
“If you’d studied your French properly, you’d know what ‘patate’ is.”

Bitty ignores that.

“Let’s buy it,” he says. 

  
“Do you want coffee with that?” Jack asks, when they’re back on the cool street.

“I can’t wait.” Bitty’s already tearing off the plastic. He recoils a bit when he touches the edge of the candy.

“Maybe I can. What in sweet jumping Jupiter is this?” He’s broken off a piece and is sniffing it again.

“Just taste, Bits,” Jack says, biting the inside of his lip. Bitty does.   
As he rolls it around in his mouth, Bitty’s face changes from questioning to confused, then to concerned. His features finally settle into what Jack recognizes as barely-polite distaste. 

“You can spit it out,” he says, “I won’t be offended.”

“No,” Bitty says, his hand over his mouth, “I won’t.” He swallows.

“No gentleman spits on a public street. Now what the heck was that?”

“Candy,” Jack says, and pops one entire roll into his mouth.

“That is not candy.”   
“It is,” he says, with his mouth full. 

Bitty shakes his head. 

“It tastes like a mashed potato gone very wrong, Jack. Very wrong.”

Jack nearly chokes on his candy. His eyes water as it goes down, but once he’s gotten his breath, he nods.

“That’s it. It’s potato candy--potato,” he pauses to read the ingredients, “icing sugar, milk, and peanut butter...Bitty?”

Bitty is hunched over his phone, typing furiously. 

“Mama is never going to believe this,” he says. 

“So did I surprise you?” Jack asks. Bitty shuts his eyes and shakes his head. He sends off his message and looks at Jack.

“Why is everything so  _ starchy _ ?”

“Hearty peasant stock. Like me.”

“You are laughing at me.”

“You are impugning the cuisine of my ancestors.”

“Yes.”

“I’d take it more seriously if you didn’t have mashed potato on your lips.”

Bitty raises his eyebrows and licks his lips.

“Sweetheart, I love you. But that candy is wrong. Wrong.”

“I know,” Jack says. “Let’s go back inside and look at the stone-ground flours.”

“Potato candy,” Bitty says, softly and sadly, and follows Jack inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Potato candy](https://www.ricardocuisine.com/en/recipes/2119-potato-candy)is one of those traditional Quebec things that you can get in nearly any grocery store (or, to my surprise, at many Chinese buffets. Don't ask). It is, in my considered opinion, absolutely disgusting, which is a shame, because I admire the genius of it.


	7. La tropezienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just before they go home, Jack takes Bitty to a proper pastry shop.

“I told you I’d make it up to you.” Jack grins. Bitty doesn’t answer, because his mouth is full of orangeflower cream and puff pastry. His eyes are closed. Jack takes a bite of his own apple turnover--not too sweet, filling deliciously smooth, with a tiny pinch of cinnamon--and waits.

Turns out he has to wait a long time. Bitty eats his pastry in silence, occasionally making tiny soft noises of delight. They’re disturbingly similar to the noises he makes in bed, and Jack shifts uncomfortably. 

When Bitty finally does open his eyes, he draws a long, contented sigh.   
“Perfection,” he breathes. “Jack, did you see the goldenness of the crust. And the flakiness--oh, my...I could do a vlog about just this, never mind that turnover of yours. And did you see the almond pastry?”  
“I did,” Jack laughed. “Let’s get one of everything.”

And so they board the plane that night laden with pastry and very full.   
“Did you like it?” Jack asks, as they watch the lights of Quebec City get smaller and smaller in the night.   
“It was amazing.” Bitty smiles up at him, kisses his shoulder, then his neck. Jack shivers.   
“Thank you,” he says.  
“Me?” Bitty sits up in surprise. “Why me?”   
“Because you’re you.”  
“That is very sentimental.”  
“I’m fine with that.”  
“Me too.”  
When they kiss, Jack can still taste a little icing sugar at the corner of Bitty’s lip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the pastry shop they're in here is [Pascal le Boulanger.](http://pascalleboulanger.com) This place has the best pastry I have ever tasted in all my life, including the pastry I had in France. 
> 
> [This picture](http://www.canadagram.me/user/mmmaudeeebd/photo/1084987624871195139.html#fromPlace) shows a tropezienne on the bottom left- it's the triangle with the sugar on top. It is, in a word, divine.


End file.
